Take your choice or take them both now that Laura Linney and Cynthia Nixon are playing the old bait-and-switch game (well, not quite) in the very fine Manhattan Theater Club revival of Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes. It always amazes me how certain principal characters in classic plays sometimes drift from their positions of dramatic power depending on how the role is being played and by whom. It isn't that Shakespeare's Hamlet or Tennessee Williams’s Blanche (in A Streetcar Named Desire) lose their top spot as the primary dramatic catalysts in their respective plays, it's just that the sheer force and imprint of the interpretation by an actor in a secondary role can shift our attention and empathy from what has been formerly seen as the play's center of gravity. This is not the first time two prominent stars switched and/or alternated roles while appearing in the same production. Under the sturdy direction of Daniel Sullivan, Hellman’s 1939 play is now offering really different perspectives to audiences, most of whom are rarely given the opportunity to taste and compare. Having seen both leading actors take on the two principal and supporting female roles, I have strong feelings as to which one has the shifted the balance of power more specifically to meet the demands of the play. I expect that Linney and Nixon will invite comparison, but that only invites more discussion on the inherent merits or even social veracity of the play. That’s good. For those familiar with the Hubbards, that infamously greedy, selfish, corrupt, ethically-challenged Southern family—it is Regina Giddens who traditionally demands our most undivided consideration as she determinedly proceeds to secure her share of the family's impending fortunes from her ruthless brothers. Regina demands the intensity of a dramatic dominatrix. Linney (Time Stands Still, Les Liaisons Dangereuses) fills that demand with a imposingly venomous front and a blinding charm. Tony award-winner Nixon (“Rabbit Hole”) who is best known for her role in the TV series “Sex and the City” is more subtle/subdued and cautious in exposing Regina’s underhanded treachery. Not exactly a draw, but wait. Melodramatic at its core, we are drawn into the play's relentless drive as Regina takes on her sneaky-to-a-fault brothers Oscar (Darren Goldstein) and Benjamin (Michael McKean) as they attempt full control of the construction of a cotton mill. To this end, she will do anything, including virtually affect the demise of her morally upright banker husband Horace (a terrific Richard Thomas). As the middle-aged Regina, both Linney and Nixon deliver the dramatic goods with verve, but Linney’s bite is decidedly more lethal. Tallulah Bankhead famously originated the role of Regina Giddens on Broadway in 1940. Bette Davis played Regina in the 1941 film version. Subsequent Broadway Reginas have been Anne Bancroft (1967), Elizabeth Taylor (1981), and Stockard Channing (1997). It was rare indeed, for a woman to be an industrial mover and shaker in 1900 when the play is set and certainly not in the South. But what is it about the almost stealthily devised but unforeseeable shift we make from Regina's machinations to the plight of her sister-in-law Birdie Oscar's wife? It happens early, and it remains a constant throughout the play. It isn't just that Birdie, born of gentry whose family plantation is now owned by the Hubbards. Why is the belittled Birdie, who Oscar says, “chatters like a magpie,” suddenly the pulse and the prevailing heartbeat of this otherwise brilliantly callous portrait of a ruthless family? She is undeniably a figure of pity and needs our sympathy. She is ridiculed, belittled, and physically mistreated by Oscar. Look to a heart-breaking brilliance from Nixon as Birdie who serves as the play's wellspring of emotional pain. While Linney is affecting (and could this splendid actress not be?), it is Nixon who casts upon her character the more luminous reflection of embattled gentility. Nixon may, indeed, be the best Birdie in my memory. Birdie discloses some personal well-kept secrets to Regina's yet-unspoiled daughter Alexandra (Francesca Carpanini) and to the house maid Addie (Caroline Stefanie Clay). Alexandra presumably becomes the unexpected heartbeat/representative of the playwright herself in Act III. Evans as the maid and Charles Turner, who plays the Giddens’s man-servant, are terrific and bring a concerted and carefully delineated sub-text to their supporting roles that might otherwise not demand more than our passing interest: remembering the adage that there are no small parts only small actors. As for the brothers, Goldstein is splendid as the viciously condescending Oscar as is McKean as the more insidious and conspiring Ben. Michael Benz neatly filled the shoes of Oscar's irretrievably stupid son Leo. Both Linney and Nixon fill costume designer Jane Greenwood’s period-perfect gowns to perfection. As designed by Scott Pask, the Giddens’s Greek Revival residence deserves consideration with its obligatory staircase, hidden dining area and Victorian furnishings. The play's title is derived from the King James version of the Song of Solomon ("Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes"). It remains a gripping reminder that there is a price to pay for the recycling of greed and the ravaging of our humanity as we enter another century.
